


The Inner Monologue of One Nicholas Miller, Not Esquire

by ThemThereEyes1



Category: New Girl
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Hand Jobs, Missing Scene, One Shot, One True Pairing, Oral Sex, Orgasm, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Series Spoilers, Sexual Content, Swearing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThemThereEyes1/pseuds/ThemThereEyes1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened between Jess slamming the front door, Nick catching her in the elevator, their kissing in his bedroom, and the breathless final moments in Virgins?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inner Monologue of One Nicholas Miller, Not Esquire

For what feels like hours he stares at the closed front door after she not so subtly slammed it, that is until his brain finally clicks, and the thought finally comes to him louder than the door slamming. _Move, you fucking asshole_. Yes, he swears at himself, he almost constantly does actually, his vocabulary is literally a litany of words heard on **_HBO_** , in Quentin Tarantino movies, or bleeped out on his favorite shows like _**Southland**_ , and re-runs of _**Cops**_. The fucks, the shits, the cunts, the cocks, the bitches, the assholes, are a cacophonous and disjointed melody in his head. And yes, they get worse when he's stubbed his toe, gets stuck in traffic, or is about to knowingly, and quite possibly make a complete fucking asshole of his cunting self. Not this time though, this time all he can hear is the blood rushing in his head, and the sound of his own heart beating.

 _Move, asshole_!

He blindly opens the front door, and rushes down the hallway to the elevator. The elevator's doors are sliding shut, and he knows that if he doesn't do something right then and there, he'll never get up the nerve again, will probably have to find a new place to live, break Jess' heart, break his own heart, break Schmidt's heart while he's at it, and basically ruin his life even more than he already has in his 30 plus years on this fucking unforgiving planet. He reaches out and pushes the elevator door open whilst taking a much needed breath. There she stands, a confused look on her face, which is better than the look of disappointment that was there a very short time ago. He walks into the small space, and of course she asks him what he's doing. He barely has the brain capacity to process what she's saying, because he's bending down and Fireman lifting her into his arms, trying not to get lost in the sharp gasp of surprise she lets out, or the new, yet completely familiar weight of her, the smell of her, in his arms. She seemingly instinctively puts both her arms around his neck, and is staring into his face with a look of complete awe. Like, _this is really happening?_ And he can only think, _yes, this is really fucking happening._

"Let's not think about it." He answers, and starts back towards the loft.

He'd left the front door open, so there's no awkward fumbling to get the door open once they've reached it. Just walking though, kicking one leg out, hooking it around, and slamming it shut. He doesn't care how loud the sound is when it slams into the jamb, he can't stop staring at her mouth. Trudging forward towards his bedroom, he leans down with her in his arms, takes his hand off her back for several seconds, and deftly turns the knob. The door swings open after he kicks it open with a foot, and they walk into his messy bedroom. But he's not thinking about any of that, about how his pillow cases don't match, that there are piles of dirty laundry scattered on the floor, an empty pizza box on his desk, that he's using one of his old law school text books to prop up his laptop so it's at the perfect angle he likes when he's working on his zombie novel, that there's a copy of **_Twilight_ ** on his bedside table, or that- oh, who fucking gives a shit! They're standing in front of his bed, and they're both staring at it like it's a albino elephant, and then they look back at each other. It's in those few seconds that he takes in the look of total lust on her face, total certainty, that he allows himself to smile, and they both lean towards each other, and kiss.

He can't say that it all happens in a haze, because he's only had three beers, and it takes at least five for him to start losing cognitive function, and he also told himself weeks ago when he'd pulled her to him, and kissed her in the hallway in the middle of the night, and then when they almost did it on the dining table, that if he ever got the balls to finally step up and initiate sex with Jess, he'd pay attention to everything.

He's paying attention to _everything_.

He's put her down on the bed, and it's like a slow motion scramble. He's pulling her dark sweater up and over her head, flinging it to the floor with his multitudes of dirty laundry, he's leaning back in, kissing her on the mouth, her cheek, down the graceful column of her throat, and over the fine ridges of her collar bone. He's running his hands around her rib cage, and over her tits, squeezing their subtle weight in his hands, listening to the intake of her breath when he lightly pinches a nipple. Let's his hands fall to her waist, pulls her torso closer so he can place his mouth over that nipple, and laves and sucks it through the double layers of the flesh toned tank top she's wearing, and her bra. She's gasping for breath as he's kissing her tits, she's running her hands through his hair, grazing his scalp with her nails, then reaches down his back and starts pulling his t-shirt off. He leans back for a couple of seconds, and she yanks it all the way off, and stares at his bare chest. They're both taking in deep gulps of air, and staring at each other in a wash of delight, and disbelief. He reaches out tentatively for the hem of her tank top, almost asking permission first, she nods, and he strips it off of her. More flesh, he's seen her in less, he's touched her while she's been wearing less actually. Only that time it was all in friendship, and with Schmidt, Winston, and Tran watching, and laughing. He does not want to be thinking about any of those people right now, not when Jess is sitting on his bed, in only her black polka dot bra, her seemingly requisite short skirt, and her tights, looking thoroughly kissed.

He bends forwards again, taking her jaw in his hands delicately, and kisses her on the lips. He's trying to be gentle, he's trying to be tender, but in this moment there's just so much stuff inside of him that soon lightly brushing his lips over hers, and slowly letting his tongue tangle with hers, well- it just isn't enough. Nope, not when her bra covered tits are mashed up against the wall of his chest, and he can feel, and hear every hitch in her breath, ever whimper, every gasp. It's all going straight to his pants, his pants that are amazingly still on. It's like she's reading his mind, because she's then reaching down, unbuckling his belt, going for the button, the zip, and then her slight hand is not so subtly inside his boxers, circling his cock, and rubbing it up and down firmly, slowly- deliciously. He tears his mouth from hers, and does a horrible job of covering a groan. Her hand's so soft, but unyielding as she continues to touch his cock. It's not as if he's a Minute Man, or anything, it's just that the combination of wanting her for so long, and it actually happening is culminating in the doubled sensation, and realization that it's **her** hand on his cock, and not some woman he probably only barely likes, let alone tolerates long enough to fuck. _We are not fucking!_ He yells at himself, as she twists her wrist in such a way that makes his eyes roll back in his head, it feels so damn good. He can't help it, but if she doesn't stop what she's doing very soon, he's going to come, and he does not want the first time he comes in her presence, for them to still be for the most part clothed.

"Jess..." He puts his hand on her wrist, stopping her from continuing the amazing things she's doing, "if you don't stop that, it's going to be over very fast." Her hand is still around his cock, so warm, and so soft- he could come from just remembering that feeling alone, a week from now, and solo.

He pulls her hand out of his pants, and does something he never thought he'd ever do. He clasps it in both of his, and kisses her palm. He knows exactly where that hand has been, and normally that knowledge would make him sort of queasy, but not tonight.

It's a slow burn of actions after that. All clothing is removed, even socks- which was a little awkward to maneuver, but it got done. Backs of knees are tickled, nipples are tweaked (his), undersides of jaws were nipped, hair is pulled only slightly. They're under the covers on his mismatched bed, and all he can think is _skin, so much skin. Soft, warm, hot... slide, fuck, want, so much skin. Jess._ They're kissing, and his hand is on her hip making its way to her center. She's radiating heat, and he wants to feel it all. His hand slides to her inner thigh, and she seems to subconsciously let her legs fall open so he has better access. He called her virginity her _"_ wonderful secret garden _"_ earlier that night- he knows how juvenile that sounded, but right now he could care less, because he's separating her lips with his fingers, and feeling the most intimate area of her body for the very first fucking time.

He finds her clit in seconds, running the rough pad of his thumb over it as he keeps her lips spread. She gasps at the contact, then hums in pleasure as he continues to rub tiny circles over the small bundle of nerves. He knows he let it slip that he's not one for extended amounts of foreplay, but after those tidbits of information were set free during that surprisingly entertaining dinner with Sadie and Melissa, he took what they were saying on board, and decided that tonight he'd put the less than subtle advice to good use. In other words, 20 minutes of foreplay was going by very quickly for him, whereas about a year ago three minutes felt like an eternity. Maybe it's the sounds she's making, and knowing it's all because of him. She keeps arching her neck, and moving her head back and forth on the pillow, biting her lower lip, closing her eyes, humming. He continues to lightly rub her clit, and gathering moisture from her slit, which is getting wetter and wetter as time passes. He adds a finger to the action soon, gently probing her slit, judging the angle and depth that she likes by the changes in her breathing, and her array of sounds.

He wants to taste her.

Kissing on her neck, he starts to move down her body, slipping under the covers, still manipulating her now swollen clit, he kisses on her tits, sucks a nipple into his mouth, moves lower, grazes the undersides of both her tits, leading a trail down the center of her torso to her navel. He dips his tongue into the shallow indentation of her navel, sort of a preview of later ministrations, if he's honest with himself.

Look, he's not apposed to going down on a woman, it's just that he's always felt a bit awkward about it. Like, locking eyes with an alien, or an angry cat. Okay, maybe it's just that Caroline repeatedly told him he sucked at everything, therefore even when she'd get tipsy enough to let him get his face that close to her vagina, it didn't really seem like she cared if it was him doing it, or the- well, the plumber. Fucking plumber. Anyway, sure she thrashed, and she seemed to enjoy herself, but it wasn't like she made him feel appreciated after she shuddered, and came around his fingers or tongue. If anything, Caroline was like your a-typical asshole of a man, i.e. he could recall, and count how many times she'd gone down on him. And Julia, her anger issues made her more controlling than passionate, and no one likes being yelled at, especially when you're naked, junk out, and well- trying to have a good time. He knows that Jess is nothing like either of those women though, and now he's learning about a whole new aspect of her, like what her slit tastes like.

Her knees are surrounding his ears, and she's making the most intoxicating noises he's ever heard. He's got two fingers moving in and out of her slit, and his tongue running in long strokes over her clit.

"So close, Nick. So... close." She says between gasps, and whimpers.

He's glad he's on his belly, and not on his knees, because he's simultaneously grinding his junk into the mattress. Not hard, just a slow roll occasionally, because it's so fucking hot what's going on between them. He doubles his efforts, adding more pressure on her clit, and quickening the rhythm he's set up with his fingers and his tongue.

"So, so, close... oh, god... Nick." She careens.

He can feel her walls clenching around his fingers, and leaves the flat of his tongue on her clit to increase the sensation for her, he's also made sure to place his free hand on her stomach. Yep, he may have read a few articles after that dinner with Sadie and Melissa as well. He breathes in the scent of her all around him, and listens to the evening out of her breathing. She hums contentedly, then starts pulling on his shoulders.

"Get up here." She tells him.

Who is he to argue? He takes the same path he took before in reverse, kissing over her stomach, to the undersides of her tits, taking one of her nipples in his mouth, he gently sucks it, then moves on up her neck, finally to her mouth. She kisses him back lazily in post orgasmic bliss.

She's running her hands through his hair, then down his back, she places one on his bare hip while the other reaches around grasping his cock.

"I want you inside me, Miller." She says with more conviction he's ever heard from her, and this woman takes her yarn quality pretty damn seriously.

It only takes several seconds to roll away from her, rummage through his bedside table for a condom, then roll back to her. He feels like he possibly has an idiot sized grin on his face, but he really doesn't care, because she takes the condom from him easily, pushes him onto his back, rips open the packet with her hands, reaches under the covers, finds his cock again, and shrewdly rolls it down his shaft.

She really knows what she wants.

Next thing he knows though is that she's coaxing him on top of her, one of her legs is curled around one of his thighs, and he's poised at her entrance. Did he think any of this would happen tonight? No, not after hearing her novel length virginity story, but he hoped it would- he always hoped. They're looking into each others faces, breathing each others exhales, and when she grips his hip again, and gently pushes him forward they both let out moans of pleasure, even though all that he's put inside her is the tip of his cock. Her eyes are huge, and he's staring at her mouth as he pushes the rest of the way into her. He doesn't think he can take it, so he rest his head on her shoulder.

"Gimme a second..." He says into her shoulder.

He can feel her nod of consent.

He breathes in deeply, trying to get it together.

"Okay," he says after less than a minute.

"O—ck" She doesn't have time to finish saying okay, because he's threaded both his hands with hers, and starts to evenly pump in and out of her. She lets go of one of his hands, and places it behind his neck, whilst keeping her other hand tightly clasped in his. Soon she's hooked both her legs high on his thighs, just under his ass, and is matching him stroke for stroke. They have a seemingly perfect rhythm going, and the sounds she's making again are increasing his own pleasure.

"Fuck, oh god... Jess." He says still pumping. "I, I need..."

Her eyes are glazed over, but she nods as he reaches down, grabs one of her legs and hitches it around his waist. The angle of penetration changes completely, and she gasps at the depth he's now reaching.

"More." She says a few seconds later.

And he increases his pace, and she matches it of course. He watches her arch her head back on the pillow, and not even try to hold back a string of moans, groans, and gasps. He's no different though.

"Nick, god... fuck, Nick." Her mouth hangs open and no sound comes out, but he can feel her muscles clenching around him. She's coming, she's coming fucking **hard**. And he follows her, burying his head in her arched neck, he lets out a low groan, and lets the feeling of utter bliss take over. He can feel it from the top of his head, to the tips of his toes.

It's fucking powerful.

After a several seconds, he carefully keeps hold of the condom so it doesn't slip off as he slips out of her. She whimpers a little as he exits. It's never a very pleasant feeling when you separate, is it? He rolls off of her, one hand still holding the condom in place, and lies next to her. They both stare up at the ceiling for a few beats, mouths hanging open, breathing in deeply, and still quite frankly in total shock that they'd just had sex. He turns his head to look at her, then she turns her head and looks at him, and they smile at each other, and then they both start to laugh, because what else is there to do, really?

"Oh boy." He says.

"Ruh-roh." She counters as they both continue to laugh.

And he thinks, _this is only the beginning._

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first attempt at New Girl fan-fiction, in fact before last week (the week of the 30th of April, 2013), I'd only seen one episode of the show. Yep, the Pilot episode, and then I caught Virgins. Aside from that I'd only seen snip-its of other episodes, like Cooler, I didn't count myself as someone who would get into the show at all- I was so wrong, guys, so very very wrong. After seeing Virgins I was intrigued, and went on a mind bending marathon of all of season one, and all of season two up until of course, Virgins. So, I guess I've been initiated into the madness that is being a New Girl fan, hope you enjoyed the unabashed smut!


End file.
